


Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry (and I will sing a lullaby)

by jambees221b



Series: Inceptiversary 2017 [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Jet lag is a bitch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambees221b/pseuds/jambees221b
Summary: Jet lag affects some people more than others.





	Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry (and I will sing a lullaby)

**Author's Note:**

> Written to make me feel better about my own jet lag. Where's my Eames? I need one.  
> The title's from Golden Slumbers, by the Beatles.

The room’s sudden increase in brightness wakes him up. A groan leaves his throat, surprising him before he can catch and stop it. Shit. Now Eames knows he’s awake. 

Fuck.

Time stands as still as Arthur in the hopes of a small miracle happening. Unfortunately, the bed dips under Eames’ weight. Nope. No miracle today. What has Arthur done to deserve this? First the curtains, now imminent human interaction and --

Oh.

Tension leaves his shoulders as a big warm hand gently cradles his head and a thumb caresses his forehead, willing the frown away.

“You look down in the dumps, love,” Eames whispers, his voice miraculously not breaking the relaxing spell Arthur is under.

He leans in, rubbing his face on Eames’ hand, his body craving the soothing touch.

“Jet lag. Fuck off,” he mumbles more than he says. Thankfully, Eames gets the message and Arthur purrs shamelessly as his scalp is massaged. He’s too tired to care about appearances. 

A soft chuckle makes him open his eyes and meet Eames’ warm gaze. He’s sporting a fond smile that makes Arthur’s heart skip a beat. God, he’s gorgeous. 

“I don’t get it, darling. Once again, you’re in a black mood while I’m as fresh as a daisy. Jet lag has no power over me.”

“Witchcraft. Stop bragging or the villagers will burn you.” Arthur’s eyes close of their own volition. 

Another chuckle. “Can I hide from their pitchforks in bed with you?”

“Only if you let me sleep, witch.” 

Arthur bites down on his bottom lip to refrain from whimpering at the loss of contact as Eames stands up. He cracks an eye open to ogle as the ink comes into view, clothes haphazardly thrown to the floor. 

The sudden chill and shivers as the blanket is lifted off makes the first skin-to-skin contact even better. 

He doesn’t protest when Eames manhandles him into his arms, the soft beat of his heart infinitely better against his ear than the pillow.

Jet lag might not be so bad, after all.


End file.
